What’s in your medicine cabinet? Do you ever wonder if guests peek in yours when they excuse themselves to the bathroom? Have YOU ever sneaked a peek in someone else’s?

I remember a Seinfeld episode when Jerry couldn’t resist looking in his new girlfriend’s medicine chest and discovered a tube of fungicide there. Even though he really liked the girl, he stopped seeing her fearing she had an STD. It turns out the medicine was for the woman’s cat.

This past week, Linda was going through the medicine chest at her late mother’s house and discovered a couple of old bottles; one containing Witch Hazel and the other Hydrogen Peroxide..

  These were apparently staples in most American households. Hydrogen Peroxide was used for everything from mouthwash to a disinfectant for cleaning. Witch Hazel is for treating skin ailments, from acne to razor burn. It’s also supposedly good for bruises, sores and swelling. I just remember the distinct and not totally unpleasant aroma coming from the faces of men after a close shave before church.

Someone this week also brought up how everyone used to have a little bottle of Mercurochrome in their medicine chest. I know we certainly did when I was a child.

It was also a topical antiseptic for use on cuts, scrapes and minor burns. So how was it different from Witch Hazel and Hydrogen Peroxide? Well, it didn’t sting when mom used that little glass wand to daub the reddish liquid on your injury. It turns out that Mercurochrome fell out of favor some years ago after the FDA raised questions about its effectiveness.

I got to thinking about the stuff we had in the medicine cabinet when I was growing up and suddenly, images stored in the back of my memory banks rushed into view. Thanks to Google,  I’m able to give you a glimpse inside the Lund bathroom in the fifties and early sixties.  Wait, that doesn’t sound right. Oh well, I’ll bet lots of these items look familiar to you too. Below is what our cabinet looked like:

It came from the factory with flourecent tubes on each side but they were pretty expensive to replace. So when we had a burnout..mom would just use a regular 60 watt bulb.

Dad used this old razor for a time with a shaving mug, brush and soap.

Dad also used his Sunbeam Shavemaster but it wasn't until he got a Norelco that he went totally electric.

Perhaps constant exposure to this Norelco TV commercial during the Christmas season was the reason. It showed old St. Nick gliding over the snow atop a Norelco razor with its three "floating heads." Odd that the bearded Santa would be the spokesman for electric shavers.

This was dad's after shave of choice. I still like the smell. My brothers and I were and are all pretty fair skinned and really didn't require regular shaving until long after we'd left home.

We all had big piles of hair, though and went through gallons of this stuff.

When the wet head look was dead, I switched to this stuff.

Once we saw that Crest had "flouristan" our family was sold.

We boys also went through plenty of this stuff. I think it was more effective at hiding zits than getting rid of them.

Mom thought gargling this awful tasting stuff was just the ticket for sore throats and bad breath. We eventually talked her into buying Scope.

Certainly no medicine cabinet then or now would be complete with out the trusty bottle of Vicks Vapo Rub. Magic stuff.

There was usually just one bottle of shampoo for all of us. Maybe it was best at cleaning all that Brylcreem out of our hair.

There was also a jar of this in our cabinet. I just assumed it was only used for chapped lips. But I guess it had other applications.

A Sunday morning ritual; swabbing our shoes with this stuff. I don't think it was leather's best friend but did "kote" those scuffs.

These probably wern't in our medicine cabinet but there was always a bottle of it in the house and it always required removing that scab of dried glue from the rubber applicator tip before use.

Did you ever wonder what became of Absorbine Senior?

We had a bottle of Bayer in the medicine chest but there was always a tin of tablets in there too..I suppose for when we traveled.

These were both in there at times. I remember insisting we get the Curad colored ones.

 Well, that’s most of what I remember.

I could have snapped a photo so you could see inside Linda and my medicine cabinet..but she’d kill me if I did. I guess you’ll just have to come over for a visit and sneak a peek for yourself.

Linda has been on a mission of late; to rid our house of “stuff” that hasn’t seen the light of day in years. She goes on these tangents occasionally. They’re usually brought on by anger and frustration over having to move a mountain of boxes to get at something stored deep in the bowels of the basement closet under the stairs. Or if  she wants something she thinks is in the bottom container of a tall stack of containers teetering precariously in the laundry room next to the downstairs fridge. “Why do we have all this crap?” I hear her holler from the nether regions as I relax in my big upstairs living room chair with remote in hand adjusting the volume upward so she doesn’t drown out the sound of “This Old House” on TV; one of the many “how to” shows I regularly watch from a reclining position but put to no practical use in real life. I know when she’s coming upstairs because her basement allergies have set off a distractingly loud series of sneezing. When she appears at my chair and looks at me with her itchy red eyes, I hit the pause button and fully expect her to give me a much deserved arse chewing for being such an insensitive, unhelpful, lazy oaf. But, instead, she smiles and hands me some items.. things she’s salvaged from boxes destined for the Goodwill or Salvation Army; including this picture of the Keloland TV news staff in the late 80’s.

Recognize any of these folks? Jaine Andrews (top row second from left) and me are the only two people in the photo still on the Kelo payroll.

“Why are you so determined to go through these things now?” I asked.  “Because I don’t want our kids to face the same situation as what we’re dealing with at mom’s.” she replied.

Mother Mary Trudeau passed away late last summer in the Alcester nursing home just a few blocks away from the house where she and Len raised 8 children. It wasn’t until after she died that her family realized just how much stuff she’d accumulated in that house over 65 years and have to decide what to do with it all. The big items like furniture and appliances weren’t a problem; they were claimed by and distributed among all the siblings and grand siblings amicably. But there was..and still are..drawers and boxes stuffed with things that Linda and her family must determine whether is trash or treasure. “It’s been physically and mentally exhausting, she says, and I’m determined to spare our kids from having to make those kinds of decisions after we’re gone.”  

To be fair, I have offered to help but I think Linda knows she wouldn’t get rid of much if I did; too attached to things even though I’d forgotten they existed. I wouldn’t say I’m a candidate for “Hoarders” but the sight of some old object can trigger memories that distract me for hours; making me reluctant to let go. I am being pressured, and rightly so, to make a decision on clearing my bedroom closet which is crammed full of suits and shirts and shoes. I still have delusions that I’m going to one day lose weight and wear them all again even if they haven’t been in style for 20 years.

One of the things from Mother Mary’s house that Linda had no qualms about requesting was the ornate oak table that was used as a living room TV stand.

They always called it the library table

It will be assuming a similar place of prominence at our place. My lovely wife has finally convinced me, her old stick-in-the-mud hubby, that after 17 years, it’s time we changed the look of our little dwelling which means relocating the oak table and chairs that came from MY boyhood home. They will  now be the focal point of our rarely used front room which is being converted into a formal dining room.

I’m glad we got that table when the family divvied up the Lund estate. I’m flooded with nostalgia every time I look at it.

It’s  where my brothers and I all had our birthday parties. Mom would put in both leaves to make room for everybody and everything; cousins, friends, loads of food including a lamb-shaped birthday cake lovingly created by Aunt Leila and, of course, a few presents that were not to be opened until after we ate.

 It was on that table where mom served up the best roast beef, ham, chicken and turkey dinners (sometimes at the same meal) ever consumed by mankind. Guests would go on and on about how delicious everything tasted while mom, with typical Norwegian humility,  would reluctantly accept the complements but be sure and point out her perceived culinary shortcomings. It was at that table that my cousin Grouse and I would nearly explode from holding back laughter when dining with Uncle Conrad, who straddled a fine line between coherence and dementia for years and never failed to tell the same two jokes before every meal. Jokes that were too corny for Reader’s Digest. He’d hold up a napkin and ask, you know what they call this don’t you? Mistake Paper!..and he’d roar.  So would Grouse and I but we were laughing AT..not with him. Shame on us.

It was at that table where I did my homework..although I don’t ever remember doing much homework. But it was there that mom tried desperately to drill Sunday School memory work through my thick head.

 I also recall her sitting alone at that table for hours on end with her hands at the keys of an old, old typewriter. She was practicing up her long idle typing skills learned at secretarial school when in her teens, so she could help dad at his new job working for Farmer’s Mutual Insurance.

I was amazed at how fast it all came back to her.

 It was at that table that dad would set up the movie projector to show the films from our latest trip to Yellowstone or Canada to invited company who’d just consumed one of mom’s big meals. Exciting as those home movies were it was tough to remain alert and awake even with my father’s stirring narration.

It’s at that table where the projector was eventually replaced with a breathing machine which kept the suffocating effects of the old man’s emphysima at bay for couple years.

It was also on that table where mom displayed all the sympathy cards received after dad gave up the fight and took his last breath.

There, now you see why Linda can’t count on this sentimental old slug to be of any use whatsoever in saying goodbye to stuff.

I guess I’m glad it snowed a little; covered up the reality of a yard buried in leaves..most of them imported from up or down the street depending on which way the hurricane force winds have been blowing. We’re usually the last ones in the neighborhood to get ours picked up because, like a nervous bride on her wedding night,  the giant maple in the back yard refuses to strip down to bare branches until mid-November.

 If I was that maple, I couldn’t wait to shed this season’s batch; the leaves are all plastered with that black tar-like substance again this year.

I can’t remember what causes that..hold on..Google check:

Okay, Wikipedia says, basically..don’t sweat it. It’s a fungus problem that’s not uncommon and mostly cosmetic. Best solution; make sure all the leaves are hauled off in the autumn so the fungal spores don’t get a chance to spread and infect next years batch. Yeah, that’s fine except they’re not goin’ anywhere if they’re buried in snow. The way our yard looked this past summer, it just might benefit from a blanket of dead foliage..tar stained or not..over the long winter.

On the other hand, Linda’s pot full of geraniums on the front deck have never looked better..even with a touch of white.

Speaking of winter, Linda and I have decided to stay put this year..no piling into Big Red (That’s our old Lincoln for any newbie’s out there) at the end of December  hoping he’ll safely get us through another journey down to the Arizona desert and back to escape the month of January. Since we didn’t win the lottery, we decided the money would be better spent replacing our shelled-out roof next spring.

Let’s see, what else? Oh, yeah..the election. Well, it doesn’t matter who you want for President because South Dakota, according to all the experts and our idiotic Electoral College system, say we’ve already gone for Romney. In fact, there are only a handful of states, like Ohio and Florida, that will end up deciding the whole thing. Where your vote DOES matter, of course, is in all the state races and ballot issues. As usual, Linda and I will talk about all of it on election eve then go to the polls with our ballots all filled out.

I do love the process, though. It is never lost on me, nor should it be on any American, what a privilege, an honor really, to have this freedom of choice. It’s easy to get lost in the shouting and accusations that too often accompany campaigns for political office. Out of frustration we’re likely to just decide there’s not a one of them worth the powder to blow ‘em all to smithereens. I don’t think that’s true. I believe most of those who run for office really do believe they can make a difference and should be admired for at least being willing to try. It’s just hard sometimes to be heard above the din of a congress or state legislature filled with folks all trying their darndest to get attention too.

Oh, well, I hope you’ll study up on the candidates and issues then go to the polls, say a little prayer and give it your best shot. Remember, every vote counts. Oops, except for President if you’re from South Dakota..

Now, there’s an issue I wish some of our elected officials would take on; switching presidential elections to be decided by the popular vote. At least there would be the satisfaction in knowing that one of the millions of numbers on the great big tote board represented me.

Ah, darn it. The snow appears to be melting. So much for leaving the leaves to rot till spring. Now, where did I leave the number of that guy who does lawns?

Actually, I never felt like I knew George McGovern well enough to call him by his first name. He probably wouldn’t have minded if I did but my respect and admiration for the man on so many levels would make such a familiar greeting akin to addressing the pope as Benny. 

I, like most everybody, was really surprised that the Senator had entered hospice. He’s had some health issues lately but he’s 90 for cryin’ out loud. Plus he was just at the State Theater dedication for another beloved nonagenarian, Sylvia Henkin , and seemed frail but fine. The point is, we’re going to see and hear a lot about McGovern’s life and times in the days to follow; all of the accolades well deserved, of course.

I can only offer a few personal observations from our long association as reporter/politician.

McGovern was the first person I ever voted for in a general election. It was his successful bid for re-election to the U.S. senate in 1968 after a short campaign for president that year picking up the reins of Robert Kennedy who’d been assassinated.
Like a lot of people back then, I didn’t think so much about left or right, liberal or conservative. I just admired McGovern’s intellect, the fact that he was a World War II hero; he was close to the Kennedys and applied a common sense approach to complicated issues. I was proud that he was a fellow South Dakotan and had a lot of respect among his political peers in Washington and around the world..
 I think a lot of the real George McGovern got lost in his 1972 presidential campaign. He listened to advice he maybe shouldn’t have like dumping Thomas Eagleton from the ticket after saying he wouldn’t.  It made him look indecisive. He also embraced endorsements from the liberal Hollywood crowd which doesn’t always bode well among voters.
Plus to appreciate George McGovern, you have to hear him speak at length on issues which very few people did on the night he accepted the presidential nomination at two o’clock in the morning after most of the country had gone to bed.

Norman Rockwell was a McGovern fan

I was shocked in 1980 when one of the most eloquent speakers in the country, McGovern, lost to Jim Abdnor..a good man but whose communication skills and power of persuasion seemed very limited. But, as Tom Daschle will tell you, South Dakota voters will send you packing if there’s the slightest perception that you’ve got above your rais’n.

Shortly after that election, I remember driving back to KELO on South Phillips Avenue and spotted the senator walking along on the sidewalk all by himself..no entourage..no reporters..alone on a brisk Autumn afternoon with his head down slightly. He looked more contemplative than defeated; as if he was pondering the chapters of his life so far with its victories and disappointments, all the while planning a strategy for his next role in public service which, as we all know, has been exemplary..reflecting his inherent compassion, diligence and effective statesmanship especially in the fight against world hunger.
Thanks to my job, I’ve had lots of chances to interview George McGovern. Each time, I told him who I was and each time he’d say, “I know who you are, Doug” and then ask about my bosses and colleagues down at KELO. He was always gracious and always brilliant no matter if we were talking about his war experiences, his latest book, the death of his daughter to alcoholism, his bi-partisan mission with Senator Bob Dole to provide decent school lunches for kids around the world or even skydiving in his eighties.

During World War II, McGovern was a B-24 pilot and flew 35 missions over Europe and received the Distinguished Flying Cross for safely landing his damaged plane saving his crew.

McGovern skydiving on his 88th birthday

His departure from this world will leave a huge void in the hearts of millions around the globe, including me, who’ve been helped or enlightened by the wisdom and influence of this gentle preacher’s kid from South Dakota.

October is National Bullying Prevention Month. 

Of course it’s also National Breast Cancer Awareness month, National Black History Month and National Popcorn Poppin’ Month. The point is, I don’t pay a whole lot of attention to these designations aimed at calling my attention to some cause or event. But a TV anchor in Wisconsin has become something of a poster person for bullying prevention after a 4 minute video that aired on her station then went viral across the internet.

Jennifer Livingston had received an e-mail from a viewer who chastised her for being overweight. Well, here’s what he wrote:

“Hi Jennifer, It’s unusual that I see your morning show, but I did so for a very short time today. I was surprised indeed to witness that your physical condition hasn’t improved for many years. Surely you don’t consider yourself a suitable example for this community’s young people, girls in particular. Obesity is one of the worst choices a person can make and one of the most dangerous habits to maintain. I leave you this note hoping that you’ll reconsider your responsibility as a local public personality to present and promote a healthy lifestyle.”

Livingston and her husband, who is also an anchor at the LaCrosse TV station, decided to go public with the email calling it an example of bullying. The station management agreed to give her all the time she wanted to call out her accuser. Here’s part of what she said in an emotional video response that aired on WKBT:

Before long people were calling for the emailer’s head on a platter and Jennifer was besieged with, and granting, requests for national interviews.

Was it bullying?

Stupid, insensitive, hurtful and classless yes..but bullying? I’m not so sure.  When an upper classman  used to shove me around and point out my pudginess at every opportunity in high school; that was bullying.  When a few of us boys bought a can of deodorant and put it in the desk of a hygiene-challenged classmate, that was stupid and insensitive but bullying?

Half the people in this country, including yours truly, are fat. So it’s not surprising that support and sympathy for Ms. Livingston has been overwhelming.  The local lawyer who wrote the email, Kenneth Krause, has been outed and, under enormous public pressure, apologized..saying he never meant to hurt Jennifer.

In all my years on local television, I don’t ever remember receiving a viewer letter critical of my appearance. Oh, wait, a few had trouble with some of my dubious wardrobe choices or whether my hair was actually MY hair  but that’s about it.  Women TV personalities, on the other hand, receive letters and comments all the time about how they look on the air and some are downright mean. I don’t know why some people can be so critical of females while guys usually get a pass. But I do know that it’s an old rule of journalism that reporters and anchors should never BE THE STORY and never use your position the in media for personal retribution. Basically, grin and bear it..shrug it off..develop a thick skin. Not easy to do when you’ve been hurt.

Ms. Livingston is asking that people take it easy on Krause and to leave him alone. She’s also starting to feel the heat of her national exposure as blogs and anonymous comments rip into her for being a publicity hound.

The internet giveth and the internet taketh away.

Wouldn’t it be wonderful if we could all follow our mother’s advice; “If you can’t say something good about someone, keep your mouth shut?”

A lesson she and her friends might have learned rubber-necking on the ol’ party line.

Soooooo. Who do ya think won the first presidential debate?

Don’t answer that.

I mean REALLY don’t answer that because I really don’t want to know. There are plenty of political blogs out there for folks to fling feces back and forth; delighting in anonymous confrontations over which presidential candidate they believe has solutions to all our problems.  What I might be interested in knowing is how many people actually changed their mind about a candidate after watching the debate. I suspect that number to be, oh, roughly zero.

I had fully intended to wrap up our tour of Ireland for you here on the blog with some more pictures and commentary but when we boarded the plane in Dublin for our journey home, I was sick as the lyrics in a punk rock song. That’s no reflection on the Emerald Isle itself, our visit was nothing short of spectacular, but somehow on our last night there, the mother of all colds decided to come a callin’.  I wasn’t the only one either because there was so much coughing and hacking among the passengers that it sounded like a TB ward throughout the cabin during our entire 8 1/2 hour flight back to the U.S.A.   I’m just now feeling back up to snuff, thanks in part to Linda’s TLC (as outlined in our marriage vows) along with copious amounts of codeine cough syrup.

Oh, alright, here are a few more photos from that fabulous tour:

Kilkenny Castle was built in 1195. James Butler bought the place in 1391 and remained in the Butler family as a residence until 1935. It was finally handed over to the city for a museum in 1967. No photos allowed inside.

Downtown Kilkenny

Our group. What a fun bunch!

Terrific Traditional Tunes in nearly every pub.

So far this week out Holiday Vacations tour group has enjoyed exceptional weather for visiting all the tourist places; a bit of rain and wind but, hey, this is Ireland. Linda and I have, in a short time, grown to love it here. Our traveling companions are all top notch; our tour guide is wonderful and our driver guide, well, he’s been exceptional not only with his motoring skills but his knowledge of the country and dry wit. The scenery is spectacular, of course, but I think it’s the Irish people themselves that have won us over.  Oh, I know, most of the people we encounter on these jaunts put on the charm because they’d like our money..but there’s a difference with the Irish we’ve encountered. They’re just friendly and nice; genuinely so, I believe.

Anyway, it’s all going way too fast.

Here are a few more photos with comments..

Ta La for now.   

Our one rainy day at the Cliffs of Moher. This was as close as Linda wanted to get to the edge.

What a cute Irish family at the Cliffs, I thought. Turns out they were from Atlanta and the little boy's name was, of all things, Grant. Thank goodness the war is over for some.

On to Limerick and a tour of Bunratty Castle dating back a thousand years or so.

Inside Bunratty Castle that evening we were treated to a medieval banquet with plenty of honey wine (mead) ribs, chicken and other courses all served without silverware. The entertainment was fit for a king.

And who should be named Lord and Lady of the evening but Linda and Me. We were presented with crowns and got to sit at the head table. Everyone on the tour are still calling us your highness. I thought about discouraging them but figured, nah..it's good to be king.

Our bus is basic white on the outside but looks like a 1960's nightclub inside. A few of our colorful guests taking in the sights of our swing around the Ring Of Kerry.

Spectacular views of the Atlantic from "The Ring."

Tried to have a visit with Tim..who had his own corner at this Killarney pub. He, like everybody else in this country, was really friendly especially after I bought him a pint. But I couldn't understand a word he said.

      

Our group sure knows how to have crack..(fun)

More Mead wench

Lady Linda and her subjects

Climbing the 105 winding stairs to the top of Blarney Castle. I'm shocked that I made it considering my fear of tight places.

The line to kiss that bloody stone. Linda is part Irish and wanted to do it but is deathly afraid of heights. This would require special bravery.

Down she goes to be suspended out the castle wall to plant a wet one on that Blarney Stone. I was sure she'd chicken out.

But NO! She did it. Thumbs up. So proud of her. Of course the only camera angle where you can actually see the kiss is hogged by a professional photographer and you can purchase the moment for ten Euros. We bought two for 18.

                                                                                                                                                                                                 

Having a wonderful time..wish you were here.

Okay, corny but true.

Linda and I, along with 41 other fine folks on this Keloland/Holiday Vacations tour of Ireland (many of us “Plus Size”) unfolded from 8 and a half hours sitting in way too cramped airplane seats and hit the ground running in Dublin. I suppose if you’re seasoned travelers abroad, the observations of those of us who aren’t might sound tedious but let’s start with the Euro. I went to exchange 100 dollars and received 68 Euros in return. I didn’t realize that the rate had changed so dramatically. Bottom line is there’s not much bang for our bucks over here.

We’d been fully prepared for clouds, rain and cool but, aside from the cool part, the weather has been glorious. Our tour guide, Teresa (who happens to be a South Dakota girl) is taking some of the credit saying the weather always seems to be good on her tours. She’s guided groups to Alaska three times this summer (including the most recent one hosted by Angela Kennecke) and have seen Mt. McKinley each time; a rarity since the mountain is usually engulfed in clouds.

Noel and Teresa

Our driver, Noel, who speaks with a delicious Irish accent, provides colorful and informative narration along the way. An amazing feat considering he has to concentrate on the challenges of being seated on the right and driving on the left; a practice I could never get comfortable with. He suggested we embrace the Irish night life and have lots of crack (craik) which is slang around here for “fun” not the nasty drug. It’s Sunday morning and we’re about to depart our hotel in Galway and tour a crystal factory and the magnificent Kylemore Abbey and gardens.

Here are just a few photos I’ve taken so far with some commentary.

After a bus tour of downtown Dublin..our first stop was at St. Patrick's Cathedral built in the 14th century. We could hear the boy's choir somewhere in the building rehearsing for mass

Although pretty tired, we still had to check out an Irish pub before calling it a day.

Patrick (of course) our server presented us with a couple pints of Guinness (naturally).

Linda thought that Patrick was all right.

I had similar feelings about my pint.

Day three off to the oldest Christian settlement In Ireland. Clonmacnoise St. Claren's monastery founded in 545. Many who perished in the potato famine of 1840 to 42 are buired on these grounds.

Just a fascinating place along the banks of the Shannon River

Our lunch stop was in the village of Athlone. Once again, we chose a pub that served soup for Linda, chips (potato fries) for me and, of course, a couple of pints.

Then it was off to Rathbaun Farm which has been in the same family for several hundred years. They survive on raising sheep and entertaining tourists.

After a fine feast of homemade scones and coffee or tea..we saw the farmer at work with his boarder collie.

Although they raise the sheep for meat not wool, he gave our group a demonstration on shearing.

The wool ends up in China..most of the lamb is exported to France for use in restaurants.

Sunday brought us to the Connemara Celtic Crystal Company. It's been around 40 years and does amazing work with glass.

It takes years of training to master the art of grinding. Sean, here, is the company's best.

He demonstrated his technique for us turning a lovely design to this small crystal bowl in a few minutes.

It took him 27 WEEKS to complete this huge crystal trophy.

Sean also crafted this beautiful red chalace. He made a simalar one which was presented to and used by Pope John Paul II during one of his visits to Ireland. It's all pretty spendy. I'm not sure if anybody in our group sprung for the big stuff..settling, instead for a few items in the 100 Euro or less range.

The weather couldn't have been much nicer for our next stop; Kylemore Abbey and Gardens. It was built by Industry tycoon, Mitchell Henry in the 19th century as a gift for his lovely bride, Margaret. It was taken over by a group of Benedictine nuns after World War 1.

We have another great group traveling with us; lots of crack..(fun)

Well, it’s time for Linda and I to take a stroll through downtown Galway in search of some traditional Irish music..and maybe a few more pints. We’ll check in again soon.

Linda and I, along with about forty other Keloland viewers, are about to be “Enchanted” for the next nine days. We’re leaving on another “Holiday Vacations” adventure which, I’ll bet, has many of you “green” with envy. We’ll be spending 10 hours in airports and another 10 hours on airplanes before arriving in Dublin, Ireland, but it’s a small price for the chance to actually experience in person those 40 shades of green we hear so much about on the Emerald Isle.

Cliffs of Moher

We’ll be going around in circles for the next week..actually making the beautiful “Circle Tour” of Ireland from Dublin, Galway, Cliffs of Moher, Limerick, Killarney, Blarney, Kilkenny and back to Dublin.

I wonder if Linda, who is half Irish, will feel the kinship with her motherland as much as I did when we visited Norway several years ago. I hope so.  I suppose it’s possible for me to feel that sense of homecoming too since MY ancestors, the Vikings, have such a long history of invading and settling Ireland.

We hope to do all the touristy things while there from touring castles and kissing Blarney Stones to drinking Guinness, eating Mulligan stew and singing Irish pub songs in REAL Irish pubs.  

Redheads fascinate me. Wonder if her arms move when she dances.

As always, I’ll have my laptop and camera along; posting several Lund at Large blogs on Keloland.com so you can follow along with us and perhaps figure a way that you can include one of these trips for yourself in the future.

Finally..a gloomy, rainy, chilly day. I love it!

Now, you might think a chronically depressed person such as I would assume the fetal position and cringe into the corner of a dark room when such a day occurs. But after months of excruciating heat, wind and drought, a wet cool respite (which once occurred at regular intervals) is enough to lift my soul. It’s as if God himself is giving assurance that we are not necessarily heading down an apocalyptic path of global warming all because I used too much Aqua Net hairspray in my youth destroying the protective ozone layer.

The rain is too little too late for the Linda Lund victory garden. No matter, she’s  really been vigilant about keeping her plants fed and watered throughout this hellishly dry summer and the fruits of her labor are clearly apparent as you can see in the following photos: 

Okay, so its just one tomato plant and some flowers but still...

Quality over quantity. Actually there are two nice tomatoes in this photo but the one wearing the pink sweat shirt said she'd bop me on the head if I showed her face.

Speaking of photos, just because most everybody with a phone has a camera at the ready these days doesn’t necessarily make them good photographers. Oh, yes..the sunsets you post are real pretty and the out of focus shots of the kids are still precious..but very seldom does an image  grab my attention and my heart like this one from my old friend and colleague, Jeanne Jones Manzer. It’s a shot of her 5 year old great niece, Jayda, of Colome taking part in the Youth Rodeo at Burke, South Dakota. See for yourself:

Ride 'em cowgirl. I love her little black hat flying in the air and the look on her face; more determined than frightened. I know professional photographers who wait a lifetime for a terrific shot like this. By the way, Jayda took first place in sheep riding.

                                   “AND NOW FOR SOMETHING COMPLETELY DIFFERENT” 

I miss the times when network television series were all required to have at least 28 new episodes a season and that season always began in September and ran till summer. Now, series stretch no more than 13 shows and begin and end whenever they darn well feel like it. So, I’ve been slipping out of my television-viewing comfort zone lately and watching stuff I normally would not…like opera. No, not Oprah ..OPERA! Let me explain. I’m a big fan of public TV..but it’s usually the familiar stuff I watch; British comedies, American Experience, This Old House, Nova (sometimes) Dakota Life and some of the music shows. The other night, though, I got hooked on a documentary about how the Metropolitan Opera in New York was preparing for the ambitious production of Das Rheingold ..the first of 4 operas by German composer, Richard Wagner, being staged at the Met.  What really got and held my attention was the incredibly elaborate set that was designed and constructed especially for this opera series. It’s a 45 ton dizzyingly high contraption made of  planks that move about. Thanks to computer wizardly, images are projected on the planks and performers, hooked up to wires like Superman,  are forced to climb on and be suspended from the thing..all the while trying to sing Wagner’s complicated score. It’s a stunning illusion.. when it all works.. but production glitches have plagued the show from the beginning and left most critics cold.  Below is one of the multiple and complicated stage configurations for Das Rheingold at the Met

Give us the goddess or the gold.. say the giants from atop the elaborate and precarious set of Das Reingold.

As I said, I liked the documentary.. so when the full show finally aired on PBS’s Great Performances Tuesday night, I decided to watch. Thanks to the sub-titles, I was able to follow along with the silly story about mythical characters choosing between love or money and power. (I can’t imagine sitting through 3 hours of a Wagner opera being sung in German without a clue of what they’re all bellering about on stage.) I’ve gotta say, though,  it didn’t suck.

Amazing effect as the gods march straight up the wall to Valhalla.

There are three more operas in “The Ring” series coming up on PBS and I will likely watch them as well if for no other reason than to see if Debra Voigt’s portrail of the mighty mythical female warrior, Brunhilde, is more convincing than the Warner Brother’s version I remember of Bugs Bunny in drag.

Well, that’s all from Lund’a Cultural Corner. Ta Ta for now.